


With a Little Bit of Magic

by nightcore



Series: a little bit of magic-verse [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh Are Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ghost Ben Hanscom, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Werewolf Richie Tozier, Witch Beverly Marsh, Witch Eddie Kaspbrak, Witch Patty Uris, feat. my favorite patty uris i've ever written ever, vampire stanley uris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcore/pseuds/nightcore
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak has lived with Beverly Marsh for give or take 10 years.Emboldened by the excitement of a new life, he moved out of his mother’s house straight out of high school, desperate to find a place where he could be himself, surrounded by people who were like him, who cared like he did, and fell right into her lap. Quite literally, even: he, bumbling and freshly nineteen, had tripped over a faulty floorboard at a New York City coffee shop and dropped half his scalding drink all over her legs.She had laughed over his endless apologies and desperate attempts to wipe the staining coffee up without the movement coming off as invasive, shook her head, and held out a hand. Bewildered but strangely charmed, Eddie took it. The rest, of course, is history.Well, sort of.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: a little bit of magic-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985398
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	1. Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> hello! happy halloween!! this is my first attempt at an actual chaptered fic (i had one before that's long since been deleted, though it wasn't any good) but I'm really excited to share what I have in the works. 
> 
> I don't think there's any particular warnings I need to put on this chapter, but for future reference, specific trigger warnings will be in the note below, so skip there if you're worried about anything in particular! this is a pretty lighthearted story, all in all.

Eddie Kaspbrak has lived with Beverly Marsh for give or take 10 years. 

Emboldened by the excitement of a new life, he moved out of his mother’s house straight out of high school, desperate to find a place where he could be himself, surrounded by people who were like him, who cared like he did, and fell right into her lap. Quite literally, even: he, bumbling and freshly nineteen, had tripped over a faulty floorboard at a New York City coffee shop and dropped half his scalding drink all over her legs.

She had laughed over his endless apologies and desperate attempts to wipe the staining coffee up without the movement coming off as invasive, shook her head, and held out a hand. Bewildered but strangely charmed, Eddie took it. The rest, of course, is history.

Well, sort of.

Eddie discovered a lot about himself, both because of moving out (freedom does a lot to a person, in terms of self-discovery) and because of Beverly, who, after less than a day and a half of knowing her, had quickly risen to the title of "absolute best friend of all time, no exceptions" in Eddie's small collection of friends. He remembers it almost perfectly, the day they moved into their first apartment together, both drenched in sweat in the sweltering summer heat but happy as can be.

Bev's hair had been short back then, almost completely shaved off her head, growing back in small tufts of bursting red that Eddie thought made her look like a growing flame. Her eyes had been tired but excited, and her lipstick, black, had been smudged to all hell. Eddie had a matching mark on his temple, black as night, in the shape of a quick but hard press of lips that looked more like an inky blur than anything else. They were happy.

The apartment was small. The one they've got right now is much larger, but there was a certain appeal to having a small apartment that just doesn't come with a big one. One bedroom, so they shared a mattress--which led to nothing but a lot of nights of Eddie sleeping on the couch and a lot of awkward goodbyes to pretty girls in the morning--two halves of a room decorated slightly differently, interests blending in the middle where they met. Bev had only been marginally spiritual, back then, with various crystals lining their shelves and packs of tarot cards left unopened. It's ironic, looking back. She hadn’t even known what the crystals meant, just thought they looked nice next to her other knick knacks. 

The whole thing only had three rooms: a bedroom, where they spent most of their time, hanging out and shooting the shit, a combined kitchen and living room, where Beverly would sometimes pretend like she was a comedian putting on a show, only until a (very high, usually) Eddie would crumble to the floor in laughter, and a bathroom, for... obvious reasons. The shower--small, standing room only--had never fucking worked in that thing, always alternating between dribbling out barely any water or shooting it out like a fucking fire hydrant. It was home. 

Bev had a plan. She'd go to art school, she said, start up her own fashion line in the future, maybe minor in photography or focus on making charcoal drawings for the rest of her life. She had an easel where she did just that, always coming out of their room in the afternoons covered in black chalk and grinning, hugging Eddie with stained fingerprints as he made half-hearted attempts to fight her off. Her art was gorgeous. Most of it was portraits, women in long, flowing clothing or studies of Eddie doing God knows what, sipping tea from a chipped cup or pretending like he enjoyed reading a book. One time she had used the dust to draw swirls in her short hair, winding around her skull like a magical design, and Eddie had almost convinced her to dye them in permanently. Almost.

Eddie had none of that. He had left his mother's house with really no ideas at all, no future planned, no dream college or dream anything. It was stupid, in retrospect, monumentally so; Eddie had gotten a job at the Blockbuster next door and thought it was going to last him a lifetime.

The day he got fired, 21 years old, cold from the weather outside finally peaking past that summer heat and drifting into the autumn chill, tired as all hell, Beverly had told him she had a present. She hadn't described what it was over the phone, just a "surprise, Eddie, you're gonna fucking love it," and then blew him several kiss noises that were starting to veer towards disgusting while he tried to worm his way out of telling her he lost the only job he'd ever held for more than a week.

"This," Beverly had said, after Eddie got home, while directing him straight to the kitchen, forcing him to stand there aimlessly while she grabbed something from the living room. She dropped a huge, dusty book on the table, "is your gift. Our gift, technically, since I'm pretty sure we're both gonna use it."

The book was not much smaller than a textbook in its size, though the cover seemed to be made out of actual, aging, leather, instead of the plastic they use to make normal book covers. An ornate design was pressed directly into the leather, wrapping around the corners and creating something that almost looked like a tree, if Eddie turned his head a certain way. The pages on the side were gilded but fading, cracked off in places that Eddie thought made it look kind of cheap. When it landed, it tossed a cloud of dust into the air, and all that really did was force Eddie to sneeze a little too violently. Beverly laughed, and waved her hand around to clear the air.

"So, what? A book?" He'd said, sniffling and dropping his backpack on the floor next to the kitchen table. They’d had a hanger, at one point, but both of the pegs had broken off after a few weeks of use, and Eddie didn’t have the money to buy another one.

"Not just any book," Beverly had said, a grin on her face Eddie had made synonymous with "Bad Idea Beverly," the Beverly that got them almost arrested for trespassing a few weeks before; the Beverly that was the leader of all of their bad plans; the Beverly that Eddie usually only sees when they're high as balls and devising their world-takeover plan, one that he only halfway hopes will never come to fruition.

"It's a spellbook, Eddie. A real one."

Okay. What?

So Eddie had lost his job, and Beverly had fucking lost her mind. 

Good to know, he supposed, while he still had a little bit of his sanity left. If she had told him this literally an hour later, once he'd internalized everything that happened to him that day, he's pretty sure he would've combusted on the spot from pure stress. Though, Beverly wasn't done with her spiel just yet. She around flailed a little bit for seemingly dramatics, then pointed at the book again like he was supposed to say something.

Before he could, she had told him "no, watch this," presumably reacting to whatever expression washed over his face, and gave him a grin too ecstatic for even Eddie to ignore. He had sat on a flimsy chair at the kitchen table and waited for her to speak. With a flourish of her hands, she did her best to explain.

"Are you high?" Eddie asked, halfway through her introduction speech about witches and wizards being real, for-fucking-real, Eddie, and how she had apparently met one of them in an alleyway this morning walking home from the coffee shop. Bev paused for a moment, contemplating the question, then barked out a ridiculous laugh.

"No, E! Fucking listen, come on."

"I am! It's just," Eddie shrugged, "Beverly, you met this guy in an alleyway? This sounds like a shitty Disney original."

"Girl, actually," Beverly said, and then shook her head as though she was clearing her thoughts, scrunching up her nose a little bit, "It doesn't matter where I met her, hun, she proved it to me."

"Oh, well then, by all means," Eddie griped, holding back laughter. Beverly let herself laugh a little bit before continuing, shoving a pointed index finger in Eddie's direction as a silent  _ shut the fuck up and let me talk for a minute  _ gesture. Eddie raised his hands in defeat, eyebrows still furrowed, then gently put them back down on the table, careful to avoid touching Beverly's disgusting "spellbook".

The thing was fucking old, if Beverly was to be believed. Thousands of years old. Used in ancient times to do weird-ass barely-christian-sort-of-more-agnostic-than-anything rituals that didn't even work old. Full of secrets that most people can't even imagine, things that a lot of people won't ever be able to do, even if they get their hands on it. Recipes and words to chant and potions and the whole fucking shebang, though Beverly clarified several times that it's not the kind of magic you see in movies, not really, she's not going to go around shooting fireballs out of the tips of her fingers. Though it would be fucking rad if she could, just saying. 

There's more than one, obviously, but they aren't given out to just anybody--"She told me I had the gift. And not to tell anybody about it."

"So, naturally, you--" Eddie starts, just as Beverly's saying "So naturally I told you," and they both laugh through the end of the sentence, bubbling up and over uncontrollably. It was unbelievable, at the time, so unbelievable that Eddie thought he might want to believe in it, even if it felt like it was impossible. 

"Have you tried it? Does it work?" Eddie asked, suspending his belief just enough to indulge her. Beverly's eyes lit up like she had just been given the best gift in the world, and she quickly slid over on her socked feet and flipped open the book to a seemingly random page.

"Yeah," Beverly said, “if you believe it does,” and then skimmed the page, flipped through a few more, and pressed her index finger dramatically next to a drawing of something Eddie couldn't really parse. It looked like a candle, maybe? The drawing behind it seemed to be something of a circle with a bunch of runes around the edges, glowing a faint purple even through the pages of the book. Eddie frowned.

"Bev, I have no idea--" He started, but she'd shushed him. She stepped out of the room and stepped back into it just as quickly, carrying a few colorful, half-melted candles in her hand. She whispered something under her breath, maybe in Latin, though Eddie couldn’t really tell, and with a swipe of her hand the candles flickered on.

"You're fucking with me," Eddie had said, shocked and quiet. Beverly hadn't laughed, just snapped her fingers and the flame blew itself out. She did it again, once, twice, before she left the flame to burn and Eddie to process. It flickered in the low light of the room, moving fluidly, almost as though it was alive itself.

"I'm not," she had said, barely above a whisper. Eddie looked up at her and back to the candles. It must've been a trick--but Bev would've been laughing by now, right? Beverly's pretty good at pranks, but this is insanely elaborate. 

"Show me something else."

And so she did. Little tricks that she could do with the things they already had, a spoon that did all the mixing itself, a lamplight turning on and off without her having to flick the switch, their teapot pouring boiling water into a cup without either of them touching the handle. Eddie watched it all in amazement, twisting at the hem of his uniform shirt, flinching when something moved on its own when he wasn't expecting it.

"You try," Beverly had asked him, after a while. He was hesitant, of course, but he did what she told him to as bravely as he could, murmuring words under his breath and trying to get movements right. His first attempt did nothing, but on his second, after a lot of bumbling and hushed cheering from Beverly, the candles flickered on.

And, well, holy shit. In that moment and the fifteen minutes that followed after, had Eddie's life completely turned around. A full 1-fucking-80. Well, okay, not completely; the fundamentals were the same, but a lot of important shit changed, too. A _ lot _ of important shit.

First of all, the supernatural was totally, 100%, undeniably real. While he was still processing this, he also learned that his roommate, who he had come to care for very, very deeply in the past three years they'd lived together, was part of this supernatural, and he might have been as well. Second of all, he fucking might have been as well. He might have been as well! Eddie Kaspbrak, normal guy extraordinaire, who worked at fucking Blockbuster until it's collapse and won't eat mustard because he thinks it's too tangy and still can't look his mother in the eye, might have (had and has, now confirmed) a fucking magical affinity. A gift. A real one.

At the time, he had absolutely, positively, no fucking idea what to do with this information. Now, seven years later, holed up in his larger apartment with Beverly and their newest addition, Ben, who literally came with the place, he likes to think he's got a much better handle on things.

"It's fucking mustard seed, Bev, saying "Eye of Newt"," punctuated with air-quotes, "makes you sound like an insane person. Same with fucking Toe of Frog."

So yeah. Much better handle on things.

"Am I a fucking chef, Eddie?" Beverly laughs, "Are we fucking chefs? I'll call it the cool names if I want to call it the cool names. If you know what I'm talking about, why does it matter?"

"If you ask the poor teenage cashier at the grocery store where the eye of newt is, he's going to have a fucking conniption."

"I think you're projecting a little, E," another laugh, "I'll talk normally with the mortal kids, dipshit," she squeezes at his cheek with her thumb and forefinger until he bats her away, grumbling, "no reason to scare them, not yet."

"Oh," Eddie groans. Halloween is coming up. Beverly always goes all out, had before she got her powers, but now she's a whole new level of 'festive'. With decorations and spinning things and animated objects that might be animatronics or might be a little bit of magic--the kids can never tell the difference in the dark--and sometimes herself, in costume, lying in wait to jump out when their visitors least expect it. Eddie had to calm a crying /father/ last year, all because Beverly had jumped out of a ditch and screamed at the top of her lungs, fingers curved into menacing claws. "I dread to see what you have planned."

She smiles, full of herself. "You're gonna love it."

Their new apartment, new life in general, is much nicer than the last. It's larger, for one, so they both have their own bedrooms this time, as well as having a separate kitchen and living room, which is an oddly nice distinction. Their new shower has a bathtub attached, though Beverly spends more time taking baths than she ever did, so that's more of a downside for Eddie, as a person who has to do things like, for example: pee. Their decorations are much more prominent, crystals, paintings, cards, drying herbs hanging from twine, a splash of iridescent paint where Bev had made an impulsive decision that she immediately regretted, all things that make the apartment feel really, truly, theirs.

Of course, it's not 100% theirs, technically. They aren't alone in this apartment, unlike before. They'd gotten it pretty cheap with a warning of hauntings, though Eddie hadn't been particularly worried; Ben, resident ghost and overwhelming nice person, had turned out to be quite friendly. He'd supposedly been haunting the apartment since his death in the 90's, and has pretty much been hanging around since. 

"Haunting" is a strong word, because he's more like their third roommate that can travel through walls but can't go to the grocery store for them. He can't leave the building at all, really, which should be an objectively upsetting thing for Ben, but he claims he's gotten used to it since Eddie and Beverly have arrived. It's less lonely now, all three of them cooped up together. 

"I thought you were going to the woods today?" says Ben. He appears with a cold that seems to suck the heat right out of the room, face appearing first and the rest of him after through the wall to Eddie's left. No respect for doorways, this one. Eddie shifts in his bar stool, acknowledging him. 

"He's too busy making fun of my naming conventions to actually get the list of things I need," Beverly says, plucking a jar off the kitchen shelf and pouring half of its contents into the boiling pot in front of her. The steam flashes blue for a second and then settles again. There's a low humming sound coming from the oven.

Eddie scoffs. Ben laughs a low chuckle, stepping over to where Beverly has set the wooden spoon to stir the pot itself, watching the liquid bubble quietly. He can float, but he doesn't want to; insists on making Bev and Eddie as comfortable with his presence as possible. A little strange, since they can both see right through him, "What's this?"

"Experiment," Beverly says, and Eddie and Ben share a distinctive look. Beverly's 'experiments' tend not to go over very well. "It's not going to explode," she says, hands on her hips, like she knows exactly what they're thinking, "it's not meant to, anyways."

"Right," Eddie says, and swirls what's left of his drink before swallowing the rest down. Bev's moving rapidly around the kitchen, her dress swirling with colors every time she turns, kitchen utensils moving on their own and objects floating in mid-air so she can grab them quickly without making too much of a mess. The counters, however, are already a lost cause. "Well, give me your list and I'll head out," and when Bev stops everything to grab a pen and paper, he adds: "in English, please."

"We can both speak Latin," she murmurs, but humors him nonetheless. The paper she hands him is small but packed with information, Bev's handwriting scrawled and messy but legible. He nods and folds it into his pocket.

The forest is not too far from their apartment, but it's pretty easy to get lost in, so he packs dinner just in case. He switches his indoor, comfortable clothes (pajamas, Beverly calls them, though he never sleeps in them) to clothes more suitable for forest travel; long pants, a button up shirt--brown--that's loose at the sleeves, easily rolled up and just as easily rolled down, and sneakers that he knows won't give him blisters. He has a black sweatshirt that he pulls over it all, soft and thick like a blanket. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and asks if Ben needs anything as a courtesy, because he never does, and then says his goodbyes and steps out of the apartment. 

The town they live in, Derry, is not a very large town. It's small compared to most, and minuscule compared to others--large, he supposes, compared to villages with only 50-60 people, but that's in the definite minority--but it's a town full of people like them. Witches, ghosts, supernatural beings of all shapes and sizes. There are humans, but there are few; their neighbor Mike is a human, which was a shocking enough discovery that Eddie had embarrassed himself greatly with his initial reaction and Mike had laughed about it for weeks. His boyfriend, Bill, is also one, though that one wasn't hard to tell at all.

Despite the overwhelming supernatural population, most of them keep to themselves. A traveler, no matter how observant, could pass through and not realize that the supernatural existed at all. The air here is different, slightly, but nothing really screams "this town is the center of a Never-ending Halloween movie", even the overwhelming celebration the holiday gets. 

The forest by their home is, by far, not the safest place in town. It's barely  _ in town _ at all, set on the outskirts and looming over the townspeople like a constant threat. Get too close and it feels like it's watching you, walk too far in and you may never return. Eddie's not sure if he believes the second part, but he's much too old to be taking those chances.

There's a house on the edge of the forest, wooden and rickety and almost in the shape of a mushroom, that Eddie likes to visit before he heads in. He's making his way there now, steps in rhythm with the song he's humming in his head. The sidewalk in Derry is always cracked, no matter how many times they seem to fix it. He avoids the cracks every time.

The sun is setting by the time he arrives, though he pays it no mind. The forest is no more dangerous in the light as it is in the dark, and he's always been more comfortable when he can throw himself completely into his own direction, following where he feels is correct instead of overthinking his every move. It's jarringly different than the Eddie from the past, but he likes this new Eddie much more. The house is exactly where he thought it would be, just as welcoming as it always is.

The garden in front of it is complicated but beautiful. It's more wild than rigid in it's design, winding flowers of every color layering over themselves and creating their own valleys and mountains, swirling around the stones laid in short grass that create a pathway to the front door. He steps through an archway of green ivy and feels an almost perfect calm wash over him, only for a moment, before he is back to his normal self. There are birds chirping in the trees that surround the house, flitting around and singing to themselves in harmony.

The design of the garden seems different every time he comes, and he visits a lot, but today it looks almost romantic. Red flowers swirl around pink ones in what could be hearts, if he stared at them long enough, but could also just be amorphous blobs of color. The orange of the sky makes the whole thing look magical--not in a witch way, but more in a way that nature looks when you really appreciate it, like mother nature has set these things down and perfected them just for you to see.

He smiles a little uncontrollably, listening to his shoes click against the stone and the birds above him chirp a little tune. It's definitely a song he's heard before, though he can't seem to place it.

He stops in front of the doorway and waits a few seconds before knocking, subconsciously checking for sounds of chaos coming from beyond. A side effect of living with Beverly for so long. He sees and hears nothing through the heart-shaped window, so he knocks twice on the dark wood and the door seems to swing open by itself.

"Hello?" He calls, though someone is already answering before he even gets the last syllable out, a cheerful woman's voice coming from a few rooms down past the entryway. She shouts out a greeting and tells him to wait right there before she appears.

Patricia Uris, wearing an apron with her hair tied up, covered in what seems to be flour and some other ingredients and grinning from ear to ear, appears from the hallway to his left. She's got a towel wrapped around her hands and a skip to her step, and she drops a floury kiss on Eddie's cheek before he can escape.

"Oh, blegh," he says, without thinking, and she laughs.

"Hello to you too, Mr. Kaspbrak." She finishes wiping her hands on the towel and folds it over her shoulder, flour splashing off in a cloud of dust when it lands. She seems to not be bothered at all by the mess, despite Eddie's desperate urge to wipe off the flour she's got accumulating in one brown eyebrow. "What brings you to this neck of the woods, darlin’?"

"You've got flour in your eyebrow," he says, and while she makes a scrunched face and wipes at her forehead with the back of her hand (it does nothing but add more flour to her skin, and Eddie sighs when he realizes) he says, "I've got to go into the woods and get some stuff for Bev, so I figured I'd stop by."

"Well," she says, and beckons for him to follow. He does, through the entryway and living room to her kitchen, a room very rustic and almost cottage-like in it's design, with a large window to the forest in front of the sink and floating lights that almost look like lanterns, "we're always happy to have you here."

"Is Stan awake?"

"He will be soon," she smiles, looking out the window for a second before turning back to Eddie, "you want a cup of tea?"

"Sure," he nods. The moment he does, it seems like the kitchen comes to life; the teapot starts to heat, the lights seem to move and shift like they're just waking up, even the things uninvolved with making tea seem to be an active participant, excitement deep within their very beings. Patty, laughing at the commotion, shushes the room. While everything does calm a little bit, the excitement within the room is still palpable.

"It's like having kids, sometimes," she says, and Eddie realizes he must be making a face, "poor things get so excited when we have guests over, I almost feel bad that we don't have more friends."

Eddie laughs. He should really visit Patty more often. Living so close to each other, it seems like it would be something that came to mind a lot more; but both of them are so wrapped up in their daily work they seem to forget all about it, sticking to the usual texting and calling when they can. Errand days are almost a blessing, because while it is a chore, it also means that Patty's always waiting for him on the other side of this door.

"The forest is so lively these days, though," Patty turns to the window again, a little quieter than before. Eddie's not sure how to take that. "They probably have all the excitement they need, just from that."

"Dangerous lively?" He says, and Patty turns back to him. She's smiling still, so that must be a good sign.

"Just lively. It's like it's waking up."

"Oh."

"Now," she says, "back to that cup of tea!" 

Eddie watches as she works; her careful ministrations and almost floating movement around the kitchen almost mesmerizing as she takes her time measuring things out, tea leaves, sugar, some other things Eddie can't quite recognize. Eddie and Patty practice different types of magic, which means different ingredients, which means Eddie really has no idea what's going on.

The teapot makes it's loud, high-pitched squealing noise and she pulls it off the heat by the handle, careful to place it on a mat instead of directly on the counter. Her hands leave a white print behind, stark against the brown-ish tint of the metal. 

The teacup she hands Eddie is beautiful, in its own way. He's not one to throw that word around, but there's no other way to describe it; it's odd in its shape, a large, even circle all the way down to the bottom instead of a sort of tapering thing, dotted with designs of flowers and vines that wrap around the entirety of it. On one side, next to the handle, it has a recipe for a pea soup, ingredients listed in black ink and cooking times underneath a straight-line pattern of leaves, completed with a little "enjoy!" at the end.

He smiles, wrapping his hands around the ceramic and letting the warmth run through him freely. Just as he's blowing some steam off the top, a low alarm seems to play from several rooms away, triggering Patty to straighten where she's standing and grin.

"That'll be Stan! I'll be right back," she says, and presses a kiss to Eddie's forehead for good measure. He pretends to hate it, but he never does a very good job. She folds the towel over the handle of the stove and rushes out of the room, only to return a few minutes later with a light tint of pink on her cheeks and her hand wrapped around Stan's, who's following her like a duckling.

"Hello, Eddie," Stan says, voice still a little rough from sleep. Eddie can see his fangs when he smiles, and he's pretty sure he's never going to get used to that. He's literally a supernatural being himself, but the fact that vampires are real? Kind of hard to wrap your head around, even after a few years of being friends with one.

Stan lets go of his grip on Patricia's hand while she steps into the waning sunlight of the window and shuts the blinds, the room now only illuminated by the lanterns floating above. Eddie takes a sip of his tea. Grimaces.

"Oh, Patty, what's in this?" It's not bad, exactly, but there's a sharp cinnamon taste he wasn't expecting, followed by an odd aftertaste of peppermint. He hadn't actually looked at the label of the tea leaves Patty had put in the cup, but maybe he should've. Patty, instead of seeming offended at all by this, steps over to the table and puts a hand on his shoulder. A hand that is, thankfully, now devoid of flour.

"Green tea," she says, attempting to sound oblivious and missing it by a mile. Stan laughs under his breath, leaning back against the counter tops.

"Mixed with what?"

"Something to give you a little protection while you're out there," she smiles, and Stan nods along with her. 

Eddie makes a face, but takes another few sips anyway. He knows she wouldn't hurt him, nor would she lie about this. After all the years he spent not trusting anyone but himself, Eddie's found that it's a wonderful feeling, being able to trust someone. The second and third sips go down much more easily, and he has no trouble drinking the rest once it's cooled down enough.

"You'll come say hello on your way out, won't you?" She says, and though it's a request, it sounds a little more like a pleading. Not obviously, of course, but the sentiment is still there:  _ People get lost in these woods, Eddie, I'd like to know that you made it home safe. _

"Of course," he says, and stands from the table. He hands Patty the cup back and she places it in the sink, and the thing floats up and begins to wash itself. He and Beverly still have to do the damn dishes. He'll have to ask how that trick works, sometime. He looks between Patty and Stan, "well, I should probably get going."

"Yes. Patty'd keep you here until you tomorrow, if she could," Stan laughs, and Patty smacks him slightly on the arm. Eddie's hit with, suddenly, a realization of how happy he is for them. He'd known Patty long before he'd known Stan, but the way they treat each other makes it feel like he's known Stan for the same amount of time, like he was by her side all along. He fits with her well, like perfectly aligned puzzle pieces. Two whimsies, they are.

Patty hugs him goodbye before he can make enough excuses to get out of it, and Stan pats him on the back as he's making his exit. The garden seems just as lively in the dark as it did in the twilight, lights that match the ones in the kitchen now flickering on and floating around seemingly of their own volition. It's not long before he's out of the garden and standing at the edge of the forest, looking up at the trees towering above him.

The first steps are always the worst. The dead pine needles crunch under his feet, suddenly much louder than before. It's almost as if the forest is turning to look at him, acknowledging his presence but paying him no mind beyond that. After he's made it a few feet inside, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

The rest is almost no issue. He doesn't find what he's looking for until he's much farther in, where the trees press closer together and the floor is covered in a thick layer of moss, but he finds most of it with no significant problems. Beverly had asked for several plants, ranging from large, green leaves to small, purple flowers, all of which he finds relatively easily (the flowers are hard to spot in the dark, but the color is vibrant under the light of his flashlight), and a few different types of mushrooms. There's a few herbs on this list, too, but the grocery store is a much better option for finding those. Modern day witches have a lot of advantages.

They have lot of disadvantages too, it seems, because he cannot find these fucking mushrooms for the life of him. Ten, twenty, maybe even thirty minutes pass before he's one step away from losing his mind. Beverly had described them as "the stereotypical thing you think of when you think 'mushroom', like red on the top with spots?" which should be easy to find, but apparently not. He flails his flashlight around sort of aimlessly while he searches, like the color will suddenly pop out to him if he's frantic enough.

On one particularly tense flail, where he's moving so quickly he's not sure if he's actually going to be able to spot anything at all, Eddie sees a flash of color in the dark. He stops, rigid.

It wasn't red. It was yellow. Two dots of yellow.

Eyes. There's something looking at him. His stomach drops out of his ass.

"Jesus, Kaspbrak," he mumbles to himself, forcing his muscles to move again. His movements are barely there, slow and careful, "there's nothing there, motherfucker, the woods are just getting to you--" he's rambling under his breath, desperate to hold on to one segment of his sanity and get the hell out of here. He takes a step back and levels the flashlight on his phone again, turning it back to where he saw the eyes.

There's nothing there. See? He's totally fine. A branch cracks to his right, too far away to be a side effect of his footsteps. He freezes again. Whatever's next to him seems to freeze too, like it's almost moving in tandem with him. There is no noise for a very long time.

"Who's there?" Eddie finally says, voice barely above a whisper, and then immediately regrets it. He wants to do the cowardly thing, to turn tail and run, but he can't make his legs move.  _ This is it, _ he thinks, a little wildly,  _ I'm going to die fucking mushroom hunting. _

**UM** , comes a response, too low in tone and too garbled to be human. It's a noise that sounds like it's coming from a creature who's not really sure how to use it's mouth yet, tongue trapped behind too many teeth or an odd shape it can't quite form a noise around. Eddie swallows. Tries to turn his head to see the noise, but his neck won't listen to him. Whatever it is, he's certain it's not human.

"What are you?" He says, a little louder. That's a good sign, right? That this thing isn't immediately fucking attacking him? He's dead meat, if it does. He'd be ripped to shreds.

**DUNNO** , the thing says, and Eddie's so shocked by that response he does manage to turn; he looks straight at the thing and raises his flashlight without thinking, like he's going to, what, argue with it? 

Even under the light of the flashlight, he can't really see it well. It's sort of hiding behind a large tree, almost cowering, but he can see it's head. It's a dog, or a wolf, with large front teeth and yellow eyes. They're a shade that almost looks like they'd glow, if the flashlight wasn't directly on them. It backs off a little with Eddie's movement, but it doesn't run away.

**I THI-** \- it starts, and then seems to have to re-calibrate its mouth before it can actually get the words out, **I THINK I NEED HELP.**

"What?" Eddie's not really afraid, not anymore. More confused than anything. He relaxes his stance a bit and the thing seems to relax, too, like it can sense his calm. Like it's coming off him in waves. He wonders, fleetingly, if he's scarier to the dog right now than it was to him. It's an insane thought to have, that he's the threat in the woods in the middle of the night.

**I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON** , it says, voice still as deep and garbled as before. It's definitely not human, but if Eddie strains hard enough he can hear where a human might've been in there. **THIS IS GONNA SOUND REALLY FUCKING WEIRD, BUT YOU** **_SMELL_ ** **LIKE SOMEONE WHO CAN, UH, HELP.**

"Can you, uh, can I see you?" Eddie says, choosing not to analyze whatever that means, and the thing seems to freeze again under his words. After a few more seconds of silence, it steps out a little hesitantly, one pawed foot stepping out first and the rest following after.

Eddie has no more questions about what this thing is. He's never met one in real life before, not until right now, but this is a werewolf, clear as day. It's more monster than wolf, with paws and a face like a dog but a stance like a humanoid, towering over Eddie by several feet despite how hard it's clearly trying to curve into itself. It's fur is black, dark enough that it almost blends perfectly into the background of the forest, and its tail is hidden between its legs. 

"So this is--okay," Eddie says, and then, "what's your name?"

**RICHIE,** they say, struggling over the "r" sound with enough difficulty that Eddie almost starts listing off R names before they push themselves through.

"Okay," says Eddie, and in that moment, hardly even thinking about it, he makes a choice: "how can I help?"


	2. Patty's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie lets a werewolf spend the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I told myself I was gonna finish this on halloween? Yeah. Sorry about that! 
> 
> Some vague warnings: they talk about food in this chapter & there's some non-graphic depictions of minor injuries.

Eddie, left with no options and absolutely no idea what to do, does what he always does under extreme stress: he goes straight to Patty's house.

He can't exactly take a giant wolf-form werewolf on a stroll through town with him, so Patty really is the safest option, compartmentalized panic attack or not. Richie follows him through the woods pretty willingly, staying a few feet behind Eddie and tripping over a few loose rocks and stones on their way. Other than the occasional huff of frustration, he's completely silent. Eddie almost wants him to talk, just to fill the silence. He doesn't ask. He knows it must suck.

Well, doesn't know, but he figures. He can't imagine being a werewolf is very fun. It's losing control of yourself, more or less; running has always been something of a past-time of Eddie's, but not when it's frantically through the woods, looking for an animal to kill and devour. He's amazed Richie is as calm as he is, when the moon is still high like this.

Speaking of the moon, Eddie looks up. Judging by where it sits in the sky right now, he's been out here for a ridiculously long time. He could check his phone but he's worried about the battery, so he follows the stars above. The two of them make their way to the edge of the forest unharmed, minus a few scratches from loose briar bushes and some nicks Eddie got beforehand, picking up rocks and looking underneath them for ingredients. He never did get those mushrooms.

"So, uh," Eddie starts, but he's not exactly sure how to explain his plan. He's going to take Richie to Patty's house, he knows that for sure, but he's not sure what to do _after_ that. Patty might freak the fuck out, after all, and that could be apocalyptic. Richie turns to look at him, expression as expectant as a wolf's face can be in the dark. He blinks. Eddie swallows.

Now that Richie's closer, he's a much more threatening thing. He towered over Eddie before but he's fucking massive up close, at least 2 or 3 feet above Eddie's head, looming over him in what he probably (hopefully) thinks is a nonthreatening way, but it's making the hair on the back of Eddie's neck stand up. His eyes are a neon yellow, inhuman--obviously--but not the color of a wolf's, either, and they _do_ glow. As Eddie's gotten closer, he's realized that there's an area around Richie's eyes, a circle of fur, that seems to be a lighter color. A brown-ish, maybe? It's not super distinct. Richie's teeth, a piercing white color that's definitely distinct against his fur, are much too large for his mouth. He's slobbering a little bit, but Eddie doesn't think he means to.

Richie quirks his head. Eddie quickly, embarrassingly, realizes he hasn't spoken in several seconds, just stared at Richie like he had a second head. There's a fleeting thought, a moment where he thinks, _I wonder what this feels like, for him?_ before it's gone just as quickly as it arrived, and Eddie's pushing out his next sentence.

"I'm gonna take you to a friend's house. She, uh, is like me, I guess, but she also lives right by the forest, so I won't have to take you through the town or anything. I don't think you'd get a lot of good reception, walking down the street looking like that." Eddie uses the hand not holding his flashlight to make a wide gesture to Richie's body, careful not to point at anything specific.

As if it's the first time Richie's noticing what he himself looks like, he bends his neck down to look at his chest and picks at the fur with a clawed hand. Big claws. Eddie shakes his head. Richie looks back up and nods, opting for gestures instead of speech.

"Okay. It's not a long walk, so just, uh, stick with me," Eddie says, and continues on his way. He can feel Richie's footsteps behind him, heavy but strangely soft, like a creature made for stalking. He almost wants to turn around, make sure Richie isn't reaching for the kill. He doesn't. He continues moving forward. 

They reach Patty's house in record time. Eddie must be speed walking without noticing it; he's genuinely surprised when he can see the garden over the horizon. He can hear Richie huff behind him, like he's just noticed it too. When he turns, Richie has shifted to walk on all fours, a little faster than before but no less practical. If anything, it seems more easy for him to walk like this, which does an amazing job solidifying the whole werewolf thing in Eddie's head.

"Her garden's really nice," Eddie says, when he's turning away from Richie and back to the house ahead, "please don't destroy it."

Richie growls something that's probably an affirmative in response. It's not an animalistic growl, more like a grunt. Eddie's still wary of Richie, but he isn't scared of him. Just wary. 

While they approach, Eddie racks his brain to try and figure out how he's going to explain this...situation. Sure, the easiest thing would be to say exactly what happened, but he's sure Patty would call him a fucking idiot for trusting a giant wolf in the woods. She wouldn't believe him when he said that Richie didn't feel like a monster when he approached; wouldn't believe him if he said Richie felt and sounded _scared_ , and Eddie had this weird urge to help him, despite all of his instincts telling him to run away. He thinks, maybe, the best thing to do is not tell her at all, just say he needs her help and refuse to give any more explanation than that. She can gleam whatever she wants from it.

Richie has to bend a little awkwardly to get through the archway into the garden, but he does so with relative ease. He stands back up on two feet and takes his time walking on the path, careful not to crush any flowers, just as Eddie asked. When they both make it to the door, Eddie waits a few seconds, and knocks.

The door swings open. Patty calls again; she knows it's him, this time, or at least assumes it is, so he makes his way in easily. Richie hesitates, shuffling back and forth on his feet for a few seconds before Eddie nods and he makes his way in as well, not stepping past the welcome mat. When Eddie motions for him to come closer, he gestures at his feet and the carpeted floor, and shakes his head.

"You're worried about tracking mud?" Eddie says, quiet. He almost wants to laugh. Richie nods, his ears flopping back and forth when he does, "Alright, fine," Eddie smiles, just a little bit, "but stay in here.'

Eddie makes his way to the kitchen, where he can hear pots and pans being moved around in preparation for something that he assumes is Stan's lunch, Patty's dinner. He doesn't want to scare either of them with a giant wolf in their house, so it's probably a better idea to find them instead of them finding Richie. Harder to explain things when they're a total surprise.

"Hey," he says, when he steps into the room. Sure enough, Patty's got something cooking on the stove and Stan is perched on the counter top, helping her with what looks like exclusively moral support and forehead kisses. Patty gives him a smile and Stan waves. Eddie continues, "so, I need your help."

"What's up?" Patty says, precariously moving a pot of boiling water to the other side of the stove. She turns the heat on low and moves another pot to the burner before tossing a few spices in that Eddie doesn't recognize.

"It's, well," Eddie flails a little bit, "It's a little hard to explain. I made a friend, sort of, but he's not really my friend, and he also needs help. Help that I don't know, uh, how to give, really."

"You made a friend in the woods?" Patty says, at the same time Stan says "I didn't think you could make friends." Eddie scoffs and Stan furrows his eyebrows, a silent plea for Eddie to continue.

"Yeah, in the woods. He's a special case."

Patty makes a little "ooo!" noise and shimmies her shoulders. Stan hops off the counter and strides over to the kitchen table and sits down, a meaningless change of position. Stan's always like that, sitting in one spot for ages and then moving to the next, like a cat trying to find the most comfortable position in the room. "Well, let's meet him!" says Patty, turning all the burners on low and turning around, "Oh, you're a mess!"

"Am I?" Eddie says, bending to look at himself. Sure enough, he's covered in leaves and his pants have a few mud stains and scrapes cut through them. "Fuck, I didn't even realize." 

"That's alright! Let's meet your friend and get you both cleaned up," Patty says, stepping out of the kitchen. Eddie barely has time to react, barely enough time to turn and explain the situation, before Patty screams. Stan, lightning fast, shoots past Eddie and out of the room.

"Guys, no, don't hurt him!" Eddie yells. By the time he's made it out there, though, Patty and Stan don't seem hostile at all. Richie's moved himself to the farthest corner of the entry, feet still squared away on the welcome mat but body pushed against the wall. Patty is near him, mumbling something Eddie can't hear, and Stan is by her side, a hand on her shoulder.

"You must be scared," Patty says, quiet. Eddie lets out a heavy breath. 

Richie does look scared. Eddie had noticed before, but he hadn't quite realized the level of it; Richie looks terrified. He walks over to the three of them and stands next to Richie, creating a barrier between them.

"This is Richie," Eddie says, and gestures sort of vaguely in his direction. Richie makes a grumbling noise. "My, uh, friend."

"Maybe you should've mentioned the werewolf thing," Stan says, but doesn't actually seem all that bothered, "you can come in, you know." 

Richie makes no move to get any closer. Still concerned but emboldened by his friends' kindness, Eddie reaches out to him. Richie flinches but doesn't pull away, allows himself to be touched and guided farther into the home. His fur is soft. Thick, filled with little twigs and spiky seed pods that have nestled in between the hairs, but soft all the same. Eddie tightens his grip just enough to stabilize and smiles when Richie moves along with him.

"Can he--" Eddie starts, but Patty interrupts.

"Set him down on the couch, I'll get some tea going," she says, sparing a glance in their direction and then another at Stan, who nods, before heading back to the kitchen. There's some faint banging when she arrives, but nothing worrisome.

Richie struggles to sit on the couch. Eddie doesn't let go of him, letting Richie use him as a sort of handrail while he maneuvers his strangely shaped body into a sitting position, plopping onto the couch with a huff. With his size it almost looks like a couch for children, though the perspective shifts again when Eddie sits next to him, and it goes back to feeling like a normal sized couch.

The Uris' living room is just as homey as the rest of the house. The little lanterns still float above them--non corporeal things, Eddie realized, when Richie would've bumped his head into one and instead glided right through--and it's decorated in browns and greens, plants all over and ivy climbing up the walls. There's a TV nestled above a large fireplace, and on the mantle there's various family photos. All of them are Patty standing next to an empty space, grinning and holding her arm around nothing like Stan is actually there. Stan, despite being a vampire, does actually show up in modern day photography; Patty just happens to think this is one of the funniest things in the world, and Stan will do anything to make her happy.

The couch they're sitting on is a three person couch, dark green fabric and dark wooden armrests. Richie's clearly shedding fur onto the fabric, but Patty said it was okay, so... Eddie supposes it can't be too bad. He has a weird urge to reach over and pet him, but he does not act on it, because he is not an insane person.

Stan sits in the chair opposite of them, his usual spot. It's got the same design as the couch, green with dark wooden accents. Patty will sometimes shove herself on top of him until they can both be comfortable in that single chair, because he absolutely refuses to sit anywhere else in the living room. A stark change in his usual behavior, but it's "Stan's chair", so it's Stan's fucking chair.

"Okay, okay! I have tea for everybody, everybody gets tea. Well, Stan's isn't tea, but he gets a warm drink so he can match the rest of us, because I don't want him to feel left out," Patty says, stepping into the room holding two cups and floating two more behind her, all different, clearly thrifted mugs. Patty gives Eddie the same cup from earlier, drops a larger one in Richie's hands (to make up for his giant paws, Eddie assumes), and one of the one's behind her floats into Stan's hands. He takes it gratefully before she sits down on the couch to Eddie and Richie's left, nestling in.

Richie clearly has no idea what to do with this cup. A few moments pass where he just stares down at it, cupping it in one large paw and attempting to slide his other one through the handle. He can only really fit two fingers in before he's giving up and carrying it a little awkwardly. He attempts to bring it up to his mouth but seems to realize it's not the shape he's used to right before he starts to pour the liquid in, and huffs a little frustratingly.

Eddie feels a little bad. He says, as quietly as he can, "maybe try it like a dog? Like, uh, with the tongue."

Richie stares at him. Eddie can't read his face at all like this, but he's assuming he's either staring at him like he's crazy or genuinely assessing whether or not he wants to attempt that. He seems to land on the latter, because he bends down and licks a little bit of liquid out of the cup. It works.

"See!" Eddie whispers. Richie turns back to him and huffs before going back to drinking his tea. Eddie takes a sip of his own; it's just normal green, this time, not mixed with several other things. He wonders what flavor Richie got, if it's any good. Not that he would ask for a sip now, after he's slobbered all over it.

"Alright, let's get down to business," Patty says, after a minute or two of contented but awkward silence over the four of them. "What does Richie need help with?"

Richie opens his mouth to speak, but Eddie beats him to the draw, "It's his first transformation, I think. He's not sure what to do with himself?" Eddie turns to Richie for confirmation, and Richie stares back for a moment or two before he nods. "Yeah, okay. He's a lot freaked out and not really sure what to do."

"Okay," Patty says, and she takes another sip of her own cup of tea, "so he just wants to not be alone, right? That's easy enough," she says, and then her whole face lights up with a realization, "we can have a sleepover! Stan stays up all night anyway, so he can watch over Richie if he gets freaked out. You don't have work tomorrow, do you?"

Both Richie and Eddie shake their heads no. Eddie laughs, all breath.

"Okay. Eddie, you get off to the shower, I have to finish dinner," she turns, stands up, "Stan, you stay with Richie, alright?" She turns again, back to where Eddie and Richie are sitting, "Richie, you're always welcome here. If this ever happens again, do not be afraid to come straight here."

Richie nods. Eddie downs the rest of his tea and does what she says, trudging over past the entryway to the bathroom. He pulls his shirt off and winces when he realizes little bits are stuck to him with blood, small cuts akin to paper-cuts across his stomach and on his hips. He had been so determined to get Richie and him out of there that he didn't even realize he was walking straight through bramble, just thought there were a few stray vines in the path.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket while he's piling his shirt on the closed toilet seat and shoots Bev a quick text.

EDDIE: sleeping over at patty's, did not die in the woods.

BEV: oh, okay!! i'm glad you're safe

BEV: say hi to pats for me :)

EDDIE: will do.

He thinks about telling her about Richie, but ultimately chooses against it. He gave her enough stress for one night, planning to leave for 2-3 hours and being gone for at least 7. His pants come off as badly as his shirt did, and he grimaces when he piles them with the rest of his clothes. His socks and boxers come off together, and then he turns the shower on and climbs in.

Eddie does not take long showers. This pattern continues now, even though his day has been objectively very stressful and he should take this time to reflect. Instead, he washes his body as thoroughly and as quickly as he can, wincing when soap gets into cuts and groaning every time he forgets and runs a soapy hand over them again. The amount of leaves that come out of his hair is more than two, and he's a little shocked that there was even one. 

Patty's soap is infused with something magical. He's not sure what it is, but as soon as he rubs the shampoo in his hair--lavender, of course--he's calming down almost immediately, tense feeling falling more into a gentle, sleepy state of mind. The soap rinses out into a purple foam and he's already half asleep.

He climbs out and dries up as quickly as he can. He doesn't realize he has no other clothes until he wraps the towel around himself and opens the door, greeted by a pile of Stanley's clothes neatly folded right on the other side. Smiling a bit to himself, he picks up the pile, closes the door again, and changes into the pajamas.

By the time he gets back to the living room, comfortable in his pajamas and hair loose and still kind of wet against his forehead, Richie is fast asleep on the couch. He snores heavily, almost a dog’s snore--he is a dog, after all--in it’s gruffness. At the peak of the snore, when Richie's chest is stretched as wide as it will go, the sound practically rattles the house.

He barely fits on the cushions. He's sort of curled in on himself, head wrapped around his body and pushed into his knees, paws stretching forward and legs underneath his torso. Eddie's never particularly wanted to sleep in the bed with a dog, but he has the strangest urge to shake Richie awake and invite him up.

The lights are dimmer than they were before. Stan, now tinted in a soft yellow light, is still sitting in his chair and watching over Richie just as he promised. He's typing on his laptop now, rapidly, faster than a human could, but Eddie's never sure exactly what he does. "Accountant" sounds like a cover-up, doesn't it? Eddie's never heard of a vampire accountant.

Somehow, though, he's never really heard of a vampire anything. Do vampires ever have jobs? He can't think of any media where they do anything other than sit in a big castle and mope, and Stan doesn't do very much moping. Eddie shakes his head. This train of thought is probably a little offensive, anyway. Leave it to Eddie to commit microaggressions against vampires.

"You heading to bed?" Stan says, fingers never stopping their rapid movement across the keyboard. He glances up for a second and then immediately back down. From this angle, as Eddie gets closer, he can see how fast Stan is typing numbers on the spreadsheet in front of him. There's absolutely no way he could do the math this fast, and yet--

"Yeah," Eddie says, prying his eyes off the screen. Stan smiles. 

"There's some extra blankets in the closet, if you need them," he says, and stops his movement so he can look up at Eddie for real, "and if the room smells like apple pie in there, it's Patty's fault. She's been using the room for experiments, lately."

"I don't mind."

"Well, good. Because the couch is clearly occupied," Stan laughs, gesturing vaguely in Richie's direction. He smiles at Richie as though he is an old friend, not a stranger who they've only let in their house because of an emergency. It's strange, how trusting the two of them are--Eddie's grateful for it nonetheless.

"Thank you for doing this," Eddie says, after a bit. Stan nods.

"It's no big deal. I know what it's like, and it's not something you want to do alone."

"Yeah," Eddie says, though he really doesn't understand, not completely. He thinks he knows what Stan means. Then, sparing one final glance in Richie's direction, "Well, goodnight."

"Night, Eddie."

The bed in Patty's guest bedroom is soft enough that Eddie feels himself falling asleep the moment he plops down on it. With a huff of relief, he pulls the covers over himself and passes out.

Morning comes with no fanfare. The sun filters through the blinds of the window in front of him and Eddie squints himself awake, groaning and curling away from the light. His head hurts. He can hear Patty chattering loudly to someone in the living room, though he's sure Stan must be asleep right now. Vampires go to bed when the sun rises, no matter how early it may be.

Twisting his fists in the comforter, he manages to push himself to a sitting position. The bed itself groans with the movement, creaking in harmony with his poor joints. He's still exhausted. His limbs feel like they weigh a thousand pounds and his head feels even heavier--it takes more than a reasonable amount of effort to swing his legs over the side of the bed--but he doesn't feel particularly _bad_ , so he forces himself up and to the bathroom.

There's an unopened toothbrush on the counter. Eddie, eternally grateful, pulls the plastic off of it and brushes his teeth with a glob of homemade toothpaste. It tastes strange, fresh, in a way, but also kind of like eating grass. Spits. Washes his face. Finishes the rest of his routine, wordlessly appreciating the grandma-like décor of the bathroom.

The living room is barren when Eddie arrives. Stan's chair is empty and so is the couch, save for a set of blankets sort of haphazardly tossed onto the cushions. Eddie surveys the room once more and then pads over to the kitchen.

Inside, Patty is busy making breakfast, but she's not alone. Next to her, clad in what seems to be exclusively a blanket tied more or less like a toga, is a large, broad man, with dark hair down to his shoulders and a sort of awkward gait. He's visibly uncomfortable but it isn't stopping him from helping, shoulders stiff but arms still handing Patty things when she holds her hands out. She's clearly just giving him something to do, pretending as though she can't just ask the room itself for things and have them float to her. When Eddie walks in, he turns, wide-eyed, and offers something like a half smile.

Richie. Right. Eddie, only half-conscious, was still kind of expecting a large dog. He's rather attractive, in the morning light, with a sharp jawbone and just enough stubble that it's on the precipice of being a beard. He's squinting a little, one eye closed slightly more than the other. Eddie smiles back.

"Good morning," he says, and Patty turns suddenly. With a flick of her wrist, the kitchen seems to shut itself down. Eddie gets a glimpse of Richie's incredulous reaction before Patty's got his full attention, ushering him across the room until he's standing next to her, leaning slightly on the cold metal of the oven. 

"How did you sleep?"

"Alright. Your shampoo made me almost pass out in the shower."

She laughs out loud. Eddie can see Richie out of the corner of his eye, clearly debating whether or not he's allowed to sit on the countertop. Richie decides against it, choosing instead to lean sort of awkwardly against the fridge and cross his arms over his chest. Eddie, too wrapped up in staring at the stretch of Richie's arms like a pervert, misses whatever Patty said in response. She's already moving on.

"I have to head to the store and buy poor Richie here," she gestures back to him with her thumb, and he perks up a bit, "some clothes. He won't fit in anything of Stan's, and while one of my dresses might fit over his shoulders, I'm afraid it wouldn't cover up the bottom half of him."

Eddie decides against visualizing it. He still has some dignity left, after all. Patty keeps talking.

"He's really rather nice. Woke up about the same time Stan went to bed, so he's been hanging out with me for a while. Still a little shaken up, so you'll have to keep an eye on him while I'm out, okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Eddie says. Once again, he marvels at how amazing Patty and Stan are; how he came to their house with a stranger and they had accepted him with open arms; how Richie had needed help and, despite being something that could easily rip them to shreds, they had helped him without fuss, given him the benefit of doubt and calmed him down as best they could. It reminds him, not surprisingly, of Beverly.

How lucky is Eddie, to have so many people around him that are genuinely kind?

"Alright!" Patty says, a little louder, and she claps her hands together. The kitchen comes back to life all on it's own--Patty doesn't really have to participate at all, it seems--and she pulls her apron off and over her head and deposits it onto Eddie, who squirms a little violently in an attempt to push her off. "Richie, honey, I'm heading to the store to get you some clothes. Eddie probably knows how to make breakfast."

"What?" 

Before he can really register what's going on, she's already patting him on the shoulder and leaving the room. He adjusts the apron until the strings untangle around his shoulders. Huffs. Investigates the pots and tries to figure out what’s going on, because he’s apparently been promoted to the Uris Family Chef.

He puts his hands on his hips. Sighs a little more dramatically than he means to. “I have no idea what she’s making,” is what he lands on eventually, giving up on identifying the bubbling liquid in the pot. It’s some kind of stew, but he’s got no idea what she already put in and everything just looks… brown. The only thing he can identify is a carrot, cut thick and bobbing along with the rest of the vegetables.

“Beef stew,” Richie says, in a pitchy voice Eddie wasn’t expecting, but can’t say doesn’t match his appearance. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, anyway. Richie steps up next to Eddie and leans down to look in the pot. His hands are folded behind his back. Bending down a little awkwardly, he’s clearly trying his best not to intrude on Eddie’s space. Shoulder to shoulder, they watch the liquid bubble silently. “With some weird plants, I guess. I was only half listening. I think she just wants you to stir.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, spotting a wooden spoon on the counter and grabbing it. He sticks it in the pot and gives it a few good stirs, “thanks.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, and then he falls silent again. He doesn’t move away from Eddie’s side, eyes tracking the movement of the spoon in the pot. Something, most likely a potato, floats up and bobs against the other vegetables. A bubble pops. The whole room smells clearly of beef, now, but also of other flavors: pepper, bay leaves, sage, oregano, thyme. Other things Eddie can’t quite recognize. “Thanks, by the way.”

Eddie hums a question. Richie hesitates.

“For the, uh, thing. Last night,” Richie flails a little bit, leaning away from Eddie now, “I was really freaked out. You were, yeah. Nice about it. Thanks.”

Sincerity, evidently, is not a strong suit. He glances at Eddie and turns away. Eddie tries to catch his gaze and fails. Richie’s face, in profile, is just as attractive as the rest of him--straight nose, black hair that curls around his cheekbones and hides his ear, a chin that juts out just a little bit, a few cuts and bruises where he must’ve suffered the same fate as Eddie, last night--and Eddie finds himself staring when he answers, still absently stirring the pot with his left hand, “You’re hurt.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it, but it’s already out of his mouth before he can stop it. Richie meets his gaze.

“Am I?” He says, and brings a hand up to his face. He flinches a little when he grazes over one of the cuts with the pad of his finger, but there’s no blood when he pulls away. Richie frowns, “I am.”

“You’re a lot worse off than I am,” Eddie notes, gaze trailing down to his shoulders and the skin of the chest that he can see; Richie does have significantly more cuts, larger wounds where spiked seed pods must’ve made their way through the fur and stabbed themselves into his skin. His hands are bruised at the knuckles, deep and purple and clearly painful. Richie runs a finger over them like he’s just realized they’re there. “You have to clean those up.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, shifting backwards and away from Eddie.

“No, you won’t. You want them to get infected?”

“Uh,” Richie squints, “no.”

“No shit. Here, I can--” Eddie snaps his fingers with his right hand and lets the spoon go. It continues the spinning motion all on it’s own, no Eddie required. He pulls the apron up and over his head, hangs it on a hook on the front of the cabinet. Richie has stopped backing away from him, but he seems inclined to stay completely still, as though Eddie is a prey animal that will just pass him by. Eddie spares him a glance before pressing up on his toes to reach the top cabinets, pulling out the first aid kit and dropping back to his flat feet.

“Living room,” Eddie says, and Richie stays still for a few more seconds before caving in. Eddie follows on his heels, waits for Richie to sit down on the couch and sits next to him. “Face first, please.”

Richie mumbles something.

“What?”

“Nothing. Wasn’t funny.”

Eddie stops, damp washcloth held only a few centimeters away from Richie’s face. Richie’s got his eyes closed in anticipation, but he opens them a little uncomfortably after a few seconds, side-eyeing the washcloth and Eddie alternatively. Eddie opens his mouth, “say it.”

“It was bad, man,” Richie says, but he’s starting to smile. There’s a pink tinge to his cheeks.

“Just say it!” 

“I’ll go face first into something,” Richie says, barely above a whisper. Something about it, the hesitation, maybe, or the fact that it looks like it physically pains Richie to say, sends Eddie into the tiniest fit of laughter. The sound bubbles up from his chest uncontrollably, pushing its way out and startling Richie just as much as it startles Eddie. The joke wasn’t even funny; Eddie’s laughter makes them both lose it, Eddie pulling the washcloth down and hovering it over his lap, hand cupped underneath to catch any droplets.

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling. Richie leans back into him, turns his face so Eddie can get the washcloth on his cheek. His smile bends the skin enough that the cut is curved along with it, a red, wobbly slash against his otherwise tan skin. Eddie presses his thumb into the skin next to it. Stretches the cut out just until it’s flat. Richie’s smile dims, a little bit, but the skin by his eyes still crinkles with crow’s feet.

Eddie wipes the washcloth across it. Richie will have to shower to clean the rest of the cuts, but the skin on the face is sensitive and hard to deal with. Eddie wants to do it himself. The washcloth comes back clean; he already knew the cut wasn’t bleeding, but it’s important to get the dirt out before you put anything else in. Richie’s eyes shift around the room while he does it, determined to look at anything but Eddie.

“Alright,” Eddie says, finally pulling the washcloth away and pulling a cotton ball and some antibiotic cream out of the first aid kit. He dabs the cream against the end of the cotton ball and pulls it up to Richie’s face, pausing right before it makes contact. “This might sting.”

“Can I get a--ow?” Eddie presses the cotton ball to Richie’s cut, and Richie flinches back at the touch. Not far enough to actually get away from Eddie, but enough that Eddie pauses his movements again, holding the cotton ball tight against him.

“I told you,” he says.

“I wanted a countdown,” Richie grumbles.

“Well,” Eddie wipes across his cut and Richie winces. A streak of white follows the cotton ball before it fades into something transparent, leaving nothing more than a wet spot on Richie’s cheek. “We can’t all get what we want.”

“Yeah, fuck you,” Richie says, with no heat. Eddie finishes cleaning up Richie’s cut, urging Richie to turn and face him to inspect if he’s got any more. Eddie deems his work satisfactory; can’t find any other injuries directly on Richie’s face, and pats him on the shoulder.

“You have to shower for the rest,” Eddie says. Richie makes a scrunched face.

“I don’t really, uh, know these people well enough,” Richie gestures vaguely, and it only makes Eddie’s eyebrows furrow more, “to use their shower.”

“Stan would want you to shower,” Eddie deadpans, urging Richie up from the couch. Richie goes willingly, ragdolling only slightly but more or less pulling his weight. Eddie tells him where the bathroom is and Richie insists, several times, that he already knows, heading there on his own volition while Eddie stomps back to the kitchen. He waits a beat, then another, until he can hear the pipes groan and the water rushing.

Richie’s still showering by the time Patty comes home. Eddie knows it’s her before she opens the door, can hear her whistling down the pathway up to the house, matching her tune to the birds and attempting to harmonize with them. They never really get a good song going, but Patty can back and forth with the birds for much longer than Eddie can. Eddie can’t even hold a tune.

They say their hellos and Patty drops a plastic bag on the table, large and clearly full of colorful fabrics. The clothes she picked out for Richie. The pattern on whatever’s on top is an affront to the eyes, pinks and yellows and greens that seem to actually swirl and move, but underneath it are more muted colors; what must be a pair of pants, brown, and some white underwear and white socks. Eddie realizes, a little too late, that Richie has no shoes.

“Smells good,” Patty says, like Eddie’s done any of the actual cooking. Patty takes his place, forgoes an apron for standing a little too far away from the stove, stretching over it like an arch, and stirs it twice before she turns the burner off. “It’s done, if you want some!” 

“Sure,” Eddie says. They eat and make idle conversation. The stew is good; it tastes exactly how he’d expected it to, warm and strangely nostalgic. There are flavors he can’t recognize, but he finds he doesn’t mind them. The pipes groan again, and Eddie can hear the abrupt stop of the water; the absence of the splashing he’d already tuned out is much more obvious when it stops. The room falls silent, though not uncomfortably so. Patty stands, rushes to deliver Richie his clothing, and returns empty-handed.

Richie pads into the kitchen a few minutes later, fully dressed and hair damp, still rubbing the towel against his curls. His footsteps stutter when he makes it to the kitchen doorway. Patty gestures to a bowl of stew she served earlier and he nods, stepping in the room and taking it gratefully. He smiles.

“Do you live far from here?” Eddie says. Richie swallows his food before answering. Shakes his head. Droplets of water splash out of his damp hair but none are substantial enough to cause any serious issue, just an annoyance. The action, ironically, reminds Eddie of a dog. Many things about Richie do, wolf-form or not. The towel from before has been moved to his shoulders, a stark dark green against the eye-sore of a shirt he’s wearing.

“Not really,” Richie responds, swirling his food in his bowl, “I got a place in Derry a few weeks ago, around the center of town. The apartment’s pretty shitty, but, y’know.”

Eddie speaks without thinking, wincing as soon as the words make it out of his mouth, “You got it around the same time you--?” 

“Uh,” Richie says, a humorless laugh forcing its way out of his mouth but the hint of a smile still on his lips. “Yeah.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine, man.”

Richie’s not eating his food. He’s splashing it around in the bowl, watching the liquid pool in the metal divot and pouring it out. Repeating the motion again, and again, and again. Eddie takes a minor comfort in knowing he ate a few bites, but he can’t say the same for the rest of it.

“I have to get used to it eventually, right?” Richie says, and before anyone else can get a word out, he’s pushing his chair away from the table and standing up. Eddie instinctively reaches out and grabs Richie’s bowl before it spills anything. The liquid sloshes dangerously, but none makes it onto the wood. “Anyway,” he says, clipped, “I should probably get going. Sorry for, uh, intruding. I guess. Thanks for… everything else.”

“Do you--” Eddie starts, interrupted by Richie asking for his bowl and watching him head over to the sink and place it sort of hesitantly, as though the bowl will startle him by moving itself. “Do you even know how to get home?”

“I can figure it out.”

“No,” Richie raises an eyebrow, “no, I can walk you back, at least to town.”

“I’m fine, man.”

“I’m heading back anyway, so it’s not a big deal.” Eddie stands up and takes his bowl with him, places it onto the counter, “Thanks for breakfast, Pat.”

She hums. Eddie suspects, by the look on her face, that the only reason the bowls _aren’t_ moving is because she doesn’t want to scare Richie any more than the two of them already have. Eddie realizes, and in retrospect he was very, very slow on the uptake, that perhaps Richie is not taking this well at all, and they are all assuming he is at a level of discomfort they don’t understand. That Richie is _still_ scared, even after his transformation has ended. 

Richie shuffles back and forth on his feet. Moves like he’s going to put his hands in his pockets then seems to realize there’s nowhere to put them, sort of awkwardly patting his stomach and flattening his hands over the fabric. The colors shift under his touch as though it’s rippling water, greens and yellows and pinks fluttering over each other and creating completely new, complicated patterns. The buttons switch from a light green to an almost unidentifiable color before flashing a light yellow and becoming stable again. Eddie turns. Waits for an answer.

“Yeah, okay,” Richie says. He’s curled into himself again, not unlike the night before. In his wolf form it seems more threatening, more like an animal hunched before a pounce--here it’s just kind of sad, the way his shoulders roll up and his hands curl into fists. Richie’s a very large man, and he is very good at making himself small.

Eddie nods.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out w me on twitter @transkaspbrak!


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